Page 17 of Duke of Storme
“Certain areas of the castle are private,” he interrupted. His tone suggested the topic was closed.
Diana set down her spoon carefully. “I wasn’t asking to intrude. I simply thought that as your wife, I should understand what’s expected of me.”
For the first time that evening, the Duke looked directly at her. His gray-blue eyes held an intensity that made her pulse quicken despite the coolness in his expression. “What’s expected of ye is to manage yer own wing and leave mine undisturbed.”
The second course arrived before Diana could respond – roasted pheasant with root vegetables that filled the great hall with rich aromas. Diana accepted her portion while carefully formulating her response.
“I’ve been wondering about our future plans,” she said, attempting to keep her tone light and conversational. “Will we remain at Storme Castle year-round, or might we return to London for the Season?”
The Duke’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “I dislike London. I have no intention of spending unnecessary time there.”
“Surely the Season requires our attendance?” Diana persisted, cutting her pheasant into smaller pieces than strictly necessary. “I’d wager people would want to see the new Duchess of Storme. There are social obligations, parliamentary sessions–”
“Aye, the House of Lords requires my presence,” he acknowledged with obvious reluctance. “I’ll fulfil my parliamentary duties as required. But beyond that…” his jaw tightened. “We’ll return in spring for the necessary appearances,” he said flatly, meeting her gaze. “We’ll tend to the necessary rounds, attend the required functions, then return to Storme at the first opportune moment. London is… performance. Storme Castle is our reality.”
His words carried a finality that suggested this wasn’t a discussion – it was a pronouncement.
“So, you mean to keep me hidden away then,” Diana said, her voice remaining steady despite the growing tension in the room. “To plan every aspect of my life as though I were nothing more than another time on your estate ledger?”
His fork paused halfway to his mouth. When he set it down, the clink of silver against porcelain seemed unnaturally loud in the vast space. “I mean to keep us where we belong.”
“And where exactly do I belong, in this estimation of yours?”
The question hung between them like gun smoke. He pushed back from the table, his movements controlled, but suggesting barely leashed irritation.
“I have no interest whatsoever in superficial performances and gowns,” he said, rising to his full height. “And frankly, Wife, ye aren’t built for that life either.”
He might have just as well struck her physically. Heat flooded Diana’s cheeks but whether from embarrassment or anger, she couldn’t say.
“What do you believe I am built for then, Your Grace?”
The Duke’s expression remained impassive, but something flickered in his eyes – surprise, perhaps, at her direct confrontation. For a moment, she thought he might actually answer her question.
Instead, he straightened his waistcoat with mechanical precision. “I believe this conversation has reached its conclusion. Finish yer supper.”
He was gone before Diana could come up with a suitably cutting response. His footsteps echoed through the great hall until they faded into the castle’s perpetual silence. She remained seated, staring at her half-finished meal while his words reverberate through her mind.
Ye aren’t built for that life.
The casualness of his dismissal stung more than she’d expected. Did he truly see her as some fragile flower incapable of navigating society? She’d managed to hold her own during her three sisters’ courtships and marriages, had observed the intricacies of thetonfrom ballroom edges, and had learned though careful attention what was required to succeed in that world.
But perhaps that was precisely the problem. She’d been the quiet one, the one who listened rather than commanded attention. When Finn had said as much, it had stung because she’d known it was true. She’d made promises to herself about changing, but those had been born of wounded pride.
This time was different – this time, she was ready to act.
Diana finished her meal with deliberate slowness, refusing to be driven from the great hall by his abandonment. When she finally returned to her chambers, she moved with purpose toward her writing desk and withdrew her sketchbook.
Opening it to a fresh page, she picked up her charcoal and began to write, rather than draw. At the top of the page, in letters that grew bolder with each stroke, she inscribed:
Things I will learn while living in Storme Castle
Below that declaration, she began her list:
How to walk into a room and be heard, not merely seen
